


Accident Prone

by lunarlychallenged



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: I don't really know how to write Specs, Sorry kiddos, but I wanted to try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13995912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlychallenged/pseuds/lunarlychallenged
Summary: You were the only good accident that Specs ever had.





	Accident Prone

When one of the newsies said that Specs was accident prone, they did not mean that he was clumsy. No, that would have been much better than the truth. They could have found ways to work around living with somebody who fell down the stairs or tripped on air. Clumsiness can be charming.

Instead, Specs was a magnet for trouble. If there was a weak floorboard, he would be the one to step on it and break it. Baby rats would seek refuge in his shoes. The Lodge roof only ever leaked over his bed. Once, his pant leg snagged on a nail and the thread unravelled all the way up to his knee. Physically, he was nearly invincible, but he was a wrecking ball to the world around him.

His friends learned to deal with it as well as they could. If it rained, they held the umbrella to make sure lightning wouldn’t strike him. They didn’t put him in charge of valuable things or give him a part in a plan if it was the most important part. Specs didn’t mind; he was a good-natured boy. He was just happy to be involved. Even so, sometimes he rued the way he attracted the worst of what the world had to offer. He didn’t have much, but he would have traded anything he had if it meant that he wouldn’t lose shoes or break what really should have been unbreakable.

 

There was always a mid-morning lull for the newsies, and sometimes they would meet up on a corner to talk until people started coming out again. Specs was on his way to one of those gatherings; he wanted to tell them about this really tiny dog that a woman was carrying in her purse. Wouldn’t it be so funny if they got Spot Conlon a bag for his dog? Spot was probably strong enough to carry his dog around in a purse, if he-

Specs kicked a small rock. It wasn’t on purpose, per se, but he hadn’t exactly tried to avoid it. The rock shot through the air, skidding across the street, until it hit the bottom of a board that leaned against a wall. He watched, horror growing as understanding dawned, as the plank tipped, smacking into a cart of flowers. The cart ever so slowly began to roll. Maybe that wouldn’t have been an issue; it had only been bumped by a piece of wood, after all, but that cart was at the top of a hill that led down straight into the harbor.

He started running before it picked up speed, but he wasn’t fast enough. The cart rocketed down the hill, bumping and dropping stray blossoms as it rolled, and shot off the docks into the water.

People stared, aghast, as the now broken cart drifted apart in the murky water. Specs stood, completely horrified and at a loss of how to fix what he had done. It only took a few seconds for the you, the unfortunate teenager who had been selling the flowers, to come to a skidding stop next to him, and the poor kid looked as lost as he felt.

“My parents are going to kill me,” you said. There was something almost pretty about the flowers floating in the water, but it was pretty the way a natural disaster was. You couldn’t look away, but you certainly couldn’t bear to look.

“I’m really sorry,” Specs said hesitantly.

“What are you apologizing for? It was just a stroke of rotten luck,” you said distantly. You hadn’t looked at him yet, which made Specs both feel terrible and relieved at the same time.

“I knocked over the board,” he admitted. If he was going to wreck somebody’s life, the least he could do was be a man and own up to it.

When you looked at him, you felt a little bad for thinking that he was cute at such a terrible moment. Maybe it was because you were in shock. No point to being sensible now, right? Might as well enjoy looking at a cute boy for the last few hours of your life.

Specs saw your face and regretted kicking the rock even more. You were somebody his age, and you were somebody he probably would have tried to sweet talk while selling you a pape. Instead, you stood together at the touch of water, watching your livelihood saturate and float away.

“Well,” you finally said. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“I guess not,” Specs said glumly. He watched, perplexed, as you climbed into the water and picked up a soggy flower.

You held it out to him, face dramatically mournful. “Something to remember me by,” you said, “when my parents murder me for losing our source of income.”

Specs took the small flower. It was just a daisy, but nobody had ever given him a flower before. He gave a bemused grin, but it shifted to an almost real one. “Actually, there might be another way for you to make a little money.”

 

Joining the newsies was certainly not as lucrative as owning a flower cart, but it was a little more fun. You liked the flowers well enough, but the newsies were much better company than the blossoms. People joked with you while you sold. You could go to Jacobi’s for a glass of water afterwards and talk to people your age. When sales went badly, people lamented with you. When you had a good day, people rejoiced.

Your parents had been so angry. You hadn’t told Specs, but it was truly every bit as terrifying as you had feared. You would probably be working to buy them a new cart for the rest of your life. You didn’t tell Specs that, but you did start telling Specs a lot of things.

You really liked the newsies. It was a fabulous feeling to be accepted by people your age; it was more wonderful still to have people your age who you wanted to be accepted by. 

The first day you joined them at the gates, when you and Specs uncomfortably explained what had happened, the boys had groaned in unison. 

“Who was his partner that day?” Jack had looked wearily from one boy to the next.

Elmer raised an uncomfortable hand. “We was off on a break,” he protested when Albert smacked him. “I can’t keep an eye on him all day long.”

Jack smacked Elmer with his hat. “And you can’t keep an eye on him long enough to keep Y/N from drowning in the drink?”

You frowned, confused. “Why do you keep an eye on Specs?”

“He’s always doin’ this,” Race said. “If you locked him in a padded room, he’d find a way to blow up everything on the outside. He’s the only kid who can destroy a cart by kicking a pebble.”

You tried to stifle a smile, but ultimately failed. “He’s done this before?”

“Not this, exactly,” Specs said indignantly. “Nothing this bad.”

The boys started piping up, each with an example to prove him wrong.

“You set an entire box of cigars on fire. You had already blown out the match and everything.”

“You got a nosebleed and spread it all over my papes. All of them.”

“You broke your glasses three times last month.”

With each story, your smile grew. You laughed out loud when Jack mentioned the time Specs tripped into his backdrop, snagged his glasses on it, and ripped a huge gash right down the middle of the painting.

“And here I thought I was special,” you teased.

Specs’ mouth went dry. “Well, like I said, you’s gotten the worst of it. That has to count for something.”

You weren’t sure that you could financially handle getting the worst of it, but you thought that maybe he would be worth that kind of bad luck.

 

Specs’ luck, already miserable, deteriorated even further when you were around. He dropped his papes in puddles if he saw you smile. He choked on water if he saw you laugh. He ran into walls if he heard your voice in another room, and once he really did fall down the stairs just by remembering a joke you told a few days prior.

Crutchie was the only one to joke with you about it outright, though you noticed some of the others quickly ending a conversation if you came within earshot. 

“If you don’t put him out of his misery soon,” he said with a cheeky grin, “I think Specs will spontaneously combust. Actually, no, he’s not getting hurt. He’ll blow the rest of us up.”

You turned your head a little, just enough to see Specs sword fighting with sticks with the twins. “You really think that’s what’s going on?”

“I’s certain of it. We all know he’s sweet on you,” Crutchie said. He wore a sincere smile, and you were a little surprised. He was usually quick to tease somebody, quick to tease anybody, but it looked like he really meant it. “And if you kiss him today,” Crutchie added with an elbow to the ribs, “I win the betting pool.”

“What’s the prize money?”

“Fifty cents,” he said dreamily.

You licked your lips and nodded. “Consider it yours. Don’t tell the others, but you were always my favorite.” You winked at him and he laughed.

You strode up to Specs, a little nervous and very hopeful. “Specs?”

He grinned at you, stopping the battle. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Are you feeling lucky?”

He frowned. “When have I ever been lucky?”

You grinned and took a deep breath. “That’s true. I guess I’ll just have to be lucky enough for the both of us.” With that, you grabbed his shoulders and pulled his lips to yours. It was a short kiss; just a few seconds. It was long enough for you to feel his chapped lips and to catch his exhale of surprise, but short enough that he was only just beginning to smile when you pulled away.

Well, tried to pull away.

In the short time that you had pressed yourself against him, the buckle where his suspenders connected to his pants had snagged in the fabric of your clothes. You were stuck flush against him as the newsies gave mingled groans of delight and disappointment.

“One day,” Jo Jo said miserably. “One lousy day, and I would have won.” Even so, you could see him smiling out of the corner of your eye.

“I guess you don’t have enough luck for the both of us, after all,” Specs said. He didn’t sound unhappy in the slightest. His hands were quick to release you from his suspenders, but you didn’t move far.

“Luck is overrated,” you said, and pulled him back for another kiss.


End file.
